Introductions: Brindle learns a lesson.

So I believe that I have not once mentioned my little dog, Brindle. (Her given name is Penelope, but we call her Brindle as she has brindle in her coat, as many Boston Terriers do, and it is, Dave decided, easier to call her with.) I realized today, after an event that I will describe later, that if I had begun this blog before the birth of Jack Daniel that she would've already had at least one post devoted to her.That is our sweet Brindle (Pre-Jackson, Her picture is rarely taken these days). She is the toughest, badest, little dog I know, and she knows it too.

Today that bad little dog figured out how a weed eater worked and suddenly she wasn't so tough. She thought that barking and running at the thing would be fun and she did so with great enthusiasm. Of course all "great" things usually come to a devastating end and this ended no differently. Running at the damn thing she ran smack into the string while it was churning weeds away. I heard a yelp, saw a dash and then thought briefly that perhaps she had run away again. She often does this when she is scolded. But then I heard the distinct sound of Brindle splashing in the creek. I couldn't help but laugh to myself, just a bit, as I knew she was seriously injured. I had tried to tell her to stay the hell away... but noooo she had to figure this one out for herself. Just like a child I suppose.

She came back minutes later dripping with creek water sporting a bloody gash on her bottom eyelid and several small red spots on her snout. I felt bad for laughing at her, gave her some left over chicken n' dumplin's (The best I've made thus far) from last nights dinner and patted her on the head. Oh the wild adventures of Brindle. One of the many tragic/comic events from her life thus far.